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West Point Class of 1969

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Archives for October 2015

Oct 21 2015

The First Jump – 1969

Ft. Benning, GA
Ft. Benning, GA

The first place I went after West Point was Airborne School at Fort Benning, Georgia.  This was a three week course.  The first week was mostly the mechanics of something called “parachute landing falls” done over and over and over from a two foot platform.  These were interspersed with group exercises and a daily run of two miles or more.  The second week was Tower Week.  First was a thirty four foot tower done innumerable times.  Late in the week a two hundred and fifty foot tower was employed three times.  The third week was Jump Week.  There were five jumps in all.  Four were from a C-130 aircraft, which is a propeller driven plane.  One of those jumps, the fourth overall, was to be done in full field gear including a rifle.  The fifth jump was from a jet—in my case a C-141.  All of these jumps were from one thousand two hundred and fifty feet.

Back on the ground as the rest of the stick floats down
Back on the Ground as the Rest of the “Stick” Floats Down
Parachute Towers at Ft. Benning, GA
Parachute Towers at Ft. Benning, GA

The whole idea of the course is that everything should be done without thinking.  I recall one of the sergeants running the course saying “the trouble with legs (non-airborne troops) is that they think.”  I thought to myself, what is wrong with thinking.  What indeed.

At the first command, “Stand Up,” the sequence should start.  Hook Up, Shuffle to the Door, Assume the Ready Position, Hit It, Leap into the air assuming a tight body position with the chin down, hands on the reserve parachute, feet and knees together should all be automatic.  At the count of four, see that your canopy was fully deployed.  Just before landing pull up on the parachute and execute a parachute landing fall, landing on the five points of contact.  Again, all this should be done without thinking.

Each side of a plane had a door, through which static lines were attached.  These lines were about thirty feet long, and these made the parachutes deploy.  We didn’t pull ripcords.  Each plane then had two sticks (A group of parachutists jumping from the same exit door of an aircraft on the same drop zone.) of troops, half the planeload.

When your stick was complete, that group was dismissed and could go to the ice cream truck.  That is, when everyone had landed, furled the parachute in the aviator’s kit bag that he brought with him, ran to the assembly area, unpacked the parachute, put it on a long pole and then very carefully folded it back up, moved to that stick’s area, put the aviator’s kit bag down with the reserve parachute on top of it, and stood at parade rest, then your group could be dismissed.

Making a jump
Making a Jump

For the first jump, the day arrived hot and muggy. We were up early, it was a long wait for our plane to arrive and the reserve parachute made a comfortable pillow, so most of us dozed on the tarmac waiting for our plane.  Finally, we loaded up.  Away we went, and then came the command “Stand Up.”  I was first out on one side of the plane.  So I hooked up, shuffled to the door, and stood at the ready position, the jump master at my side.  But for some reason the plane made a circle of the area and then came around for a second time.  Meanwhile, the jump master kept pushing me out the side and then pulling me back.

Finally he said “Hit It” and away I went.  At three seconds the canopy fully opened.  Before I looked up I had to adjust my helmet, because it had slid down to cover my eyes.  But there it was.

Moving through the air was one of the most peaceful feelings I have ever experienced.  There was no sound, and no feeling of falling through the air.  The ground stretched below me like a painting.  Then there was an almost imperceptible feeling that I was creeping ever so slowly towards that ground.

Or was I?  It didn’t take long before I wasn’t so sure that I was going down.  For a few seconds, I thought that I wasn’t going down or up.  But then, very definitely, I was going up.

And then the next plane came.  I was maybe one hundred feet below it as it roared by, and then paratroopers jumped out, and soon were all around me.  One of them collided with the side of my parachute and then went on by me.

Taking the plunge
Taking the Plunge

By this time, I thought again, what was wrong with thinking?  I was caught in an updraft.  Others had no problem, but I was the lightest person there, and I was moving away from the Drop Zone, too.  In fact, I was in danger of landing in Alabama instead of Georgia.  It might even be that I would land in the Chattahoochee River, the boundary between them.  I had visions of snapping the quick release buttons on the parachute just before entering the water.

What I did do was to pull on one of the risers that extend down from the parachute.  I saw quickly that I had gone too far, as part of the parachute collapsed.  I quickly let go, and up I went again.  I tried a second time, with the same result.  But the third time, I got the hang of it, and even came a little closer to the Drop Zone, although I was still a long way away.

By this time, the other stick of troops from my plane was long since gone.  Two other plane loads of troops were also down.  But the other troops from my stick had to wait for me.  As I got to maybe two hundred and fifty feet from the ground, a chorus of people started yelling at me, “Get down here, Jannarone.”

I did.

I had a Fudgsicle.

There were supposed to be two jumps in Ranger School, but one was canceled because of high winds.  The other one should have been, too, but wasn’t, and everyone landed in or very close to a stand of pine trees.  We jumped after dusk, and couldn’t see the drop zone well, anyway, but I was also turned around compared to where I was going.  I tried to turn my chute, but didn’t figure out how to do that.  Every time I used the risers to turn my body, the chute didn’t turn as well, and I kept going backwards.  So I kept turning my head to see what was ahead.  When I landed, my chute was stuck in a pine tree, and only my feet had touched the ground.  It took a good half hour to climb up the tree and untangle the chute from the branches.

Six jumps in all, that’s my experience with jumping out of airplanes.

Written by thedaysf · Categorized: By Bob Jannarone

Oct 13 2015

Stuck on Ice – 1987

Preparing to launch from McMurdo Sound
Preparing to Launch from McMurdo Sound

In February of 1987 I was on assignment to the Office of the Secretary of Defense with duty as a manager with the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) for their program for Nuclear Detection Technologies. One of my projects was a space shuttle payload to test the effectiveness of some new detector materials in space.  The Challenger accident had only recently occurred and all space shuttle flights were on hold indefinitely. On the 24th of that month, the brightest supernova in over 600 years was suddenly seen in the deep southern sky. Because its location was only a few degrees from the South Pole it could be seen only in the Southern Hemisphere. Here, at last, was a chance for the first experimental verification of the theory that the heavier elements on earth were born of supernovae.
The radioactivity from the supernova that would prove this theory was decaying rapidly, and would not be detectable for much more than a year. I made the case with DARPA, the National Science Foundation, the Office of the Secretary of Defense, the Navy’s Office of Scientific Research, the Air Force Space Command, and NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center that we should try to launch our space shuttle payload from Antarctica instead, carried by an 11 million cubic foot helium balloon to an altitude of more than 120,000 feet at the very edge of space. Only there would the radiation from the supernova be detectable. Nothing like this had ever been done in Antarctica. We would need to start design and construction of the balloon gondola and integration of the payload right away. The logistics of performing all the testing and getting all the required equipment to “the Ice” were daunting. Just getting approval for the required funding quickly enough was almost unheard of. But with the wholehearted commitment of scientists and management from a number of widely diverse organizations we got it all done, and were ready to launch from McMurdo Sound in January, 1988.
I participated as one of the principal scientists, having written the software that would process and analyze the data. The launch from McMurdo Sound was successful. Two days later, flying in a NSF aircraft beneath the balloon not far from the South Pole, we decided to send the radio commands to fire the explosive bolts that would cut the parachute free from the balloon. We circled until the gondola and payload came to rest, and as it did we video-taped the shadows in the ice surface so we could determine if it would be safe to return and land there, being mindful of the deep and wide crevices that may be hidden by ice bridges. After careful study of the video back at base, the decision to return for recovery was a “go”. The Navy VXE6 Squadron flew the mission and was in overall command; I would be the ground commander. Our aircraft was an LC-130 (“L” meaning it was fitted with skis to land on snow and ice). Because we would be landing at 11,000 feet on the polar plateau, we needed to fly as light as possible to assure takeoff. We took the only aircraft with no external fuel tanks, because it was lighter than the others. There would be no chance to get help from ground support, so while on the ice the engines would be left running with feathered propellers. I was told I would have only two hours for my crew of eight to recover the payload and secure it for takeoff. I had only three days to train my crew and practice for the mission. It would be windy, cold, and noisy with poor visibility so we had to have our jobs down by heart — extracting the lithium batteries, dumping the ballast, releasing the chute, and venting any remaining liquid nitrogen. A Navy corpsman was included in the team whose job was to give us each a breath of oxygen every five minutes while on the ground, as we had just come from near sea level. We had a “Plan B” to ditch some of the less important items in case we were to be given only one hour for some reason.

Landings on the polar ice were known always to be extremely rough — it almost never snows there, and the sun bakes the surface into hard, wavy ridges. However, to everyone’s surprise, we touched down to a smooth landing. It had snowed, and no one had expected it. This created a formidable problem: the snow would add drag to the skis that would make takeoff as planned impossible. The plane would have to make its own runway by going back and forth over its own tracks to pack down the snow, and this would consume precious fuel.

Recovery on the Polar Plateau
Recovery on the Polar Plateau

With “Plan B” in place, we had the payload back in the aircraft ready to go in just less than 60 minutes. But, even after going over our own tracks for takeoff six times, we couldn’t get off the ground. The pilot would get as much takeoff speed as possible with the flaps up for less drag and then put them down suddenly for lift, but this only pushed the nose hard into the snow and prevented takeoff. Dumping the payload and failing in our mission seemed to be the only solution. But there was one other option we could try — if my crew of eight and I were to crawl up into the tail near the rudder with one cargo strap  as a makeshift seatbelt for all of us, the weight of our bodies might help lift the nose of the plane at the critical time to get airborne. Needless to say, this was not normal procedure and would be somewhat risky, but it was our only option for success.

The Site of Recovery was Roughly between the South Pole and Argus Dome
The Site of Recovery was Roughly between the South Pole and Argus Dome

I gathered my crew, who were mostly civilian scientists, and let them know that if any one of them didn’t agree we would not do it and there would be no regrets. They all agreed. After two more long takeoff tries, we finally got off the ground, with just enough fuel to make it back. Back at base we analyzed the data and found conclusive proof of the theory that the genesis of the heavy elements was indeed in supernovae. Not only were the science objectives accomplished, but also the Department of Defense objectives of testing the new detector materials for use in space were accomplished better than they could have been accomplished in any other way, because the instrumentation had performed well while flying through the harsh radiation environment of the South Magnetic Pole. The success of this mission was due to the efforts and support of a great number of people from many organizations, and it was wonderful to see what Americans can get done when things have to be done and chances have to be taken.

Mission Success and safely back to McMurdo Sound
Mission Success and safely back to McMurdo Sound

Written by thedaysf · Categorized: By Colonel George Lasché

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